


Various Goretober Prompts 2019

by Dara999



Series: Goretober [1]
Category: DCU, Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Could be OC's in one or two, Just inspo for goretober, Not really strongly fandom centered
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 08:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21268268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dara999/pseuds/Dara999
Summary: A few prompts from 2019's goretober I managed to do this year.





	Various Goretober Prompts 2019

* * *

The droning buzz of flies.

Low. Constant.

Feeding freely on a festering wound.

Mouth begging for any form of liquid, mind nodding in and out of consciousness.

How long had he been lying there? Alone, in the depths of one could only believe to be hell. Why was it taking so long to die? He couldn’t even feel the wound anymore, just the maggots writhing under his rotting flesh.

~~~~~

Silver blades that sparkle in the moonlight.

A tangy crimson leak;

the taste of iron.

The slits left in wake of moments best forgotten,

moments that stay because they’ve left signs and tell-tale marks.

Silver blades bathed in the life giving liquid of another person who wandered too far from the safety of their own mind.

Reality skewed.

Contorted.

Twisted.

Best left once and for all.

~~~~~

It was hard to get used to having eight eyes. Something always had his attention. Most days it was easy enough to control his sight, focusing in on one thing at a time. But when the dark came and the whispers started, he was looking in every direction. Shining orbs looked at him from the darkness, staring straight back at his own. A normal person would see one at a time, he saw all of them. Every angle was staring from the darkness, shadows moving and shrill cries coming from unknown locations.

He just wanted to go home. To go home and be in the arms of his mother.

That’s all he wanted…

But she’d never accept him like this anyway. A freak. A mix of monster and boy.

If the shadows stared at him like this, it would only get worse back home.

The darkness reached for the dwindling light of his fire, one of its beasts approaching from behind.

He just wanted to go home…

He just wanted the suffering to stop…

~~~~~

“Shi-rödinger!” The scientist ran downstairs, almost tripping on the last step. Water. He needed water. Racing to the kitchen, Wilson Percival Higgsbury turns the tap on full blast, submerging his entire arm under the flow.

How could be be so damn careless? One moment of distraction, a split second where his focus wavered.

Even under the water it burned! This was all he could do for it though, rinse and rinse again.

Eventually the burning stopped, but the pain persisted. The flesh was bright pink with a dark red burn in the centre. The muscles ticked and spasmed, causing his hand to shake. Reaching for the medicine cabinet, the scientist took a few of whatever was most readily available.

The pain just wouldn’t relent…

Even with half a bottle of whiskey and two hours, his hand still felt as if it was on fire. Idiot. This is what gloves were for.

Note to self: invest in a reliable pair of gloves to work with chemicals.

~~~~~

The room was near silent. Just her, her sister and the man. Abigail was squeezing Wendy’s hand, the knuckles on her porcelain fingers going even whiter than normal; she could imagine them shattering into a thousand pieces.

The man would leave for long periods of time, leaving the both of them bound to one another via handcuffs. Then he’d come back, a smile on his face and desperation in his eyes.

“Alright girls were going to play a game.” He sits across from them, placing a pair of small bottles on the table.

“We’d like to go home sir.” Abigail puffs out her chest a little, doing her best to be stern.

“One of you will be going home soon, then the other will go after the ransom is paid.” Wendy gives her sister’s hand a squeeze and gathers the courage to speak.

“Our parents don’t have much money. Just let us go and no one will get in trouble.” He just flashes his sickening smile, pushing the glass vials towards them.

“Take these and I’ll send one of you home. You will not get your sister back until you convince them to pay up.” At this point the twins were used to being slipped things. Whether it be in food or drink, it made them much easier to move around. They became fairly catatonic, like twin dolls. This was surely another concoction. Soon they’d be in a motor vehicle and off to a new location, somewhere the police wouldn’t find them. Wendy takes the small container and sighs, Abigail begging him with her eyes.

“We’ll go with you, no questions asked.”

“Please sir.” He shakes his head, pushing the liquids closer.

“I can’t have the two of you working together. Drink.” He seemed twitchy, nervous. Something was wrong. Maybe the police were getting closer. Abigail downs the glass, just wanting to get the moving over with. As she does, he looks to Wendy. Her eyes meet his. There’s something not right. Fear maybe? She downs hers, still staring him down. Then he stands suddenly, leaving the room. Wendy isn’t sure how much time passes, but Abigail seems to already be asleep. Where was he?

When he returned, he smelt like alcohol; but not the beverage, the rubbing kind. A clear fluid is poured into a cloth and rubbed along everything. Then he detached the cuff around his sister’s hand, clasping it to his own. Before she could react he was taking her towards the door.

“Wait, my sister!”

“I said that your parent’s are getting one of you back! If they love you, you won’t end up like her!” Those words make it click. He was sending a message. He poisoned her. Telling everyone he wasn’t afraid to do more than just hold hostages. Thinking in a split second she lunges forward, grabbing the bottle of alcohol from his hand and spilling the contents into his face. Howling in pain he covers his face and Wendy digs through his pockets for the key. As his bloodshot eyes open, Wendy is already out the door and searching for her way out.

~~~~~

Protruding calcifications.

Spears mounted on dense bone, ready to tear into flesh to protect.

She should have taken heed, realised it was the breeding season.

She should have taken more care in shaving the beasts for their coat.

Now her last moments were being spent with a cracked cranium, nothing but herself and the pain throbbing within her thorax.

Was it really worth coming here, to have her books valued like she’d always wanted? Probably not. As they were only valuable when she was alive to read them, there wasn’t anyone else out here in the wilderness.

If only she kept her distance. If only she had seen the beefalo charging. If only she didn’t feel it’s horns hit her back. If only she didn’t hear the crack of her ribs. If only she hadn’t come here in the first place.

~~~~~

One thing Willow didn’t know about her lovely fire, was how it felt to get burned. She’d seen burns, felt the heat of the flames, seen the destruction and life that followed. Yet whenever she ran her hand through the flames she came out unscathed. It was her gift. But… it left her wondering. Was it really as bad as it seemed? How did it happen?

It started with just watching how her food cooked. The gradual browning of red, eventually to black. But that’s not what burns looked like. At least not the ones she’d seen other people get from fire. Sometimes there was blackening, but that was the worst case. They tended to be… well, dead.

So she tried a bird. Right after killing it she held it over the fire. The feathers burned first, curling and splintering. Then the flesh sizzled, bubbling a little before just searing like any other piece of meat. It was interesting to see, but a short experience.

Then she tried something bigger. A moleworm. Then a spider. Bigger still. A hound. A pig man. She wasn’t quite sure how long it took her to be interested in the healing side of things. But it really showed once she ran into another person. A young man, not that much older than her. She was sure there were no people here, so it was a shock at first. But once she was sure he was real…

She fell was all, at least that’s what she wanted him to believe. The torch landed on his arm and the burn was made. The flesh came up and bubbled. He changed the bandage every day. She watched it heal. She itched again. He became weary when she asked questions. If it hurt. If it was a bad burn. He said it was superficial. So she asked what a worse burn was like. She needed to see. She needed to see a bigger burn. At least the tents were easily flammable.

~~~~~

Typically, is was Edward tending to John, he was frailer after all. He didn’t need to be strength orientated when his niche was chemicals, however this time it was John tending to Edward. The fool had broken his leg running from the Bat, badly. The plan was for him to land on in a dumpster they had filled with foam, hop out and drop into the sewers where John was waiting. Instead he missed the mark, a sickening crack accompanied by a loud scream. John leapt out of the sewers to see a bloodied mess. He dragged the screaming man down and onto their motorbike in the sewers. Barely missing the Bat, John tore through the labyrinth beneath the city with the blubbering mess left of the once respectable Edward Nigma.

Edward would not shut up the entire ride, not that having a broken leg wasn’t complain-worthy, but there was nothing he could do while surrounded by the filth of Gotham. Once in the den John finally got to work on Ed’s leg. The tibia could clearly be seen, a chunk of bone poking out of a fleshy pulp. Stopping the bleeding was his priority, he’d already lost a lot of blood. Tying a tourniquet, John begins.

The bone needed to be reset; fragments removed. His gorgeous screams melt away as he inevitably passes out. As long as John could keep him out of shock then he should be fine, he should pull through, or at least be okay until Johnathan could find a proper surgeon.

~~~~~

Adjusting to two pairs of extra limbs was difficult at first. They twitched and moved on their own, sending signals he wasn’t ready for. He would turn suddenly, just to find nothing.

That being said they were very useful, once he got the hang of them. Weaving and dodging, crafting and fighting. It gave him an edge.

It hurt when they got pulled on.

It bled when it got torn off.

It oozed, he screamed.

It hurt even when it was long gone.

~~~~~

Follow the left clavicle along to the sternum, then the right clavicle. A sliver of silver slicing down sternum to navel.

Perfect vivisection if he said so himself. The skin peeled back with ease, exposing the peritoneum. Such an oxymoron of a tissue; a firm layer to keep the organs in place and yet soft enough to be easily removed with a blade. With the parietal layer removed Wilson could work on the visceral layer. Now the ribs were exposed, preventing him from reaching the treasure trove of knowledge beneath. Beside the subject was an array of tools; tweezers, knives, scalpels, a bone saw and vices.

Everything he needed need to crack open a rib cage to examine a still beating heart.

* * *


End file.
